In My Time Of Dying
by Infinitediversity
Summary: Whump of a main character. The title says it all, or does it? Chapter Two Now Up!
1. Chapter 1

**In My Time of Dying**.

By

Infinitediversity.

Disclaimers: MGM and other big organisations own Stargate: Atlantis, the city, its inhabitants and the whole Stargate universe. I'm just borrowing it for a short amount of time. I'll give them all back…eventually.

-o-O-SGA-O-o-

The impact sent him reeling and his body hit the ground with a thud. The world span and see-sawed and he couldn't tell which way was up. Colours and light kaleidoscoped across his vision. He closed his eyes to ward off the nausea, the darkness a welcome respite.

His chest burned, consuming any breath left in it. It was tight, as though gripped in a vice and he was aware of his breaths being exhaled as wheezes. His world was in each breath; in only the now. The overwhelming pain forced him to remain in the present; he was unable to recall the events that had led him here but also subconsciously knew that his future evaded him. With each shallow inhalation his lungs heaved and ached, desperately trying to feed the insatiable hunger for oxygen, but not getting their fill. It felt like drowning, but there was no water here. The stricken man attempted to sit up but only succeeded in raising his head a few inches off of the ground and aggravating the pain in his torso further.

It set off a racking cough and he clutched his hands to his chest, trying to hold in the pain. Moisture gathered at the corners of his eyes and he sucked in a shuddering breath attempting to abate his coughing. The pain was making it harder to breathe and he was aware of a warm dampness beneath his hands. A lift of his hand confirmed his suspicions when he spotted the crimson fluid staining his fingertips. His life was trickling and draining away from his body. That thought ripped through him and exasperated his already strained body. Panic propelled his systems into overdrive, his heart pumped like a runaway train and his already overstretched lungs were failing to meet demand. Sweat dripped from his forehead into his hairline and he felt as though he had run a marathon.

This emotion was foreign to him, in his profession he could not afford to panic, it meant a loss of control. Suddenly something kicked in, an instinct born of training washed over him and all became calm like the eye of a storm. The thought of a storm sparked to life a memory, unbidden. A not so distant memory, of a time when he'd been forced to kill, to defend his home. A fresh wave of pain accompanied his recollection of that day, the hurt not only physical. His breath hitched causing him to grimace, snapping him out of his trance.

The sounds of battle reached his ears and for a moment, John Sheppard believed that he was back in the memory. If he was dying he didn't want his final thoughts to be like that, his stubbornness would see to that. Through force of will he made his sluggish mind focus on his friends, his family. Memories of happier times, of sparring with Teyla, jogging and training with Ronon, his witty and sarcastic banters with McKay and of standing on the balcony with Elizabeth. These memories comforted him but at the same time brought to attention the fact that they were not here with him, he was alone. Ultimately he was grateful for this as it meant that they would not share his fate.

A breeze caressed his face, coming into contact with skin slick with perspiration and wafting away with his body heat and causing him to shiver. The cold from the ground seeped through his clothing and added to the bone-deep glacier forming throughout his body. He briefly wondered why he hadn't seen his life flash before his eyes or felt compelled to follow a path down a glowing tunnel. The only sensation Sheppard was aware of was of time slowing down and the mind-numbing exhaustion. The cogs of his flesh machine was grinding down, his heart beat becoming an adagio rhythm, the edges of his vision greying.

His eyes fluttered open, his gaze blinkered towards the sky. The pain-filled cries and sounds of humans in their death throes; where once would have compelled action, reluctantly faded into the background of his consciousness. His focus staggered elsewhere as he became hypnotised by the swaying of the tree branches in the breeze. Shades of green dappled against a clear ice blue sky and sun beams danced and trickled between the wriggling fingers of the trees.

His breathing relaxed and his eyes started to droop, as though entering slumber. He wanted nothing more that to comply with his body's demands and descend into darkness, but a part of him rebelled and continued to fight, a part of him that always would. To fight equalled pain and as he lay there dying it meant that he wasn't dead yet.

-o-SGA-o-

This is my first attempt at fanfiction so please review and let me know if I should continue it or leave it as it is. Ideas and suggestions are always welcome. Thank you.


	2. Chapter 2

**In My Time of Dying**.

By

Infinitediversity.

Disclaimers: MGM and other big organisations own Stargate: Atlantis, the city, its inhabitants and the whole Stargate universe. I'm just borrowing it for a short amount of time. I'll give them all back…eventually.

-o-O-SGA-O-o-

His time in the darkness was growing ever longer with each reluctant closing of his eyes. It was increasingly harder to remain awake and he had noticed long ago that he could no longer sweat, soon after he had lost the ability to shiver. What worried Sheppard more was the numbness, it enveloped his senses and dulled the pain, his remaining connection to life. The light was swallowed up when he blinked, however the black void would not relinquish its hold upon him so easily and his eyes remained shut. He was sinking. It was like swimming towards the surface of the sea; to fresh air, only his limbs were lined with lead and the current was against him. Silently he drifted, the surface steadily moving further away from him. Down he was dragged, into the murky depths of oblivion.

John was jolted by new found strength and eventually broke the surface, precariously floating on the edge of consciousness that he had fought so hard to gain. When he came to, it was to find a face hovering over him. It took a while for his vision to focus and it wavered, but lasted long enough to confirm that the being was human and was aiming a gun straight at him. He sucked in a harsh breath and his heart thudded to a stop. Time stood still. Everything, every fibre of his being focused on the barrel of the gun. Then the gaping hole of pain and death shifted away to be holstered at his side and the being shouted, "all clear!" John let out the breath he was holding, making him feel lightheaded. The tension within him dropped a few degrees, like taut elastic that just snapped and his muscles trembled likewise.

The being called to him, "Colonel! Colonel Sheppard, stay with me." Then the voice was directed elsewhere, "I've administered him a shot, but its wearing off quickly." The Colonel could no longer comply with the order, as his eyes closed.

The next thing he knew, a sharp pain punctured his chest. A rush of warmth flooded the area, spreading outwards in waves. It quickly turned to fire and bubbled through his veins and ignited his senses. A gasp of air screamed from his lungs, causing his body to arc from the ground. He was vaguely aware of voices but could not make out the words over the din of his heart beating in his ears and the rebooting of his systems. Sheppard turned his head trying to find the source of the sounds, but a metallic glint caught his eye. He could just make out the outline of a gun, which lay just out of his reach. A feeling of urgency was summoned by the image of the gun and his brow furrowed as he did not know why. It seemed that his mind could not waste precious resources on trivial things such as memory, especially when its priority was survival.

"Colonel, its ok, you got him. Its over," said the voice in a reassuring tone.

A hand cupped his chin and guided it back to facing upwards and then held it steady. Fingertips were gently placed around his eyes as light was poured into each one in turn, he groaned and tried to shy away from it, but it was gone as quickly as it had come. Something pinched his skin and then he could feel prying hands upon his chest, pulling at his clothing then attending to his wounds. A blurry figure in white entered his line of sight. "You're going to be alright, son," said the being in white; who seemed to be in a constant whirl of movement while attending to Sheppard. A feeling of familiarity swept over him, chasing away the tension.

Pressure on a tender area caused him to gasp and he instinctively flinched. The pressure reasserted its presence and was followed by a stinging sensation, which was new and unexpected; his cry of pain was held back with gritted teeth. His breaths coming out in gasps. The smell of chemicals reached his nostrils and the pain in his torso flared as someone went about cleaning his wound. It slowly ebbed away, becoming a tingling sensation like pins and needles tickling his skin.

Something was placed onto his face and cool, sweet air filled his mouth and nose. His body took over and greedily sucked in deep breaths, the oxygen rich air satisfying a pressing hunger. More faces hovered above him but they could not keep his attention as his eyes started to close, his mind and body exhausted. He could feel the darkness snapping at his heels; however it felt different this time. It was seductive, his mind and body lulled by a cloying sensation of cotton candy and clouds, sugar coating the fear accompanied with the downward drag of unconsciousness. It was also different because he no longer had any need to fight it; this state would not be permanent; he would wake up. John Sheppard surrendered himself to the darkness.

-o-O-SGA-O-o-

The return to consciousness was slow and faltering. He just needed to open his eyes and come round, but was not yet ready for that last step. The cool smell of menthol and bleach assaulted his senses and he instantly knew where he was; the infirmary. Oddly, it stirred emotions of relief and a familiarity and comfort, like worn shoes or a favourite old chair, feelings that brought to mind, home.

The Colonel became aware of voices, but they were muffled by the fog in his mind. Words occasionally broke free of the droning noise within his head, "Major," "report" and then "Colonel Sheppard," were among them and eventually they formed into coherent sentences.

"…during which three of our men were injured," said the second voice.

"How could this have happened?"

"I don't know, sir. It took us all by surprise…we had been so prepared," he replied, before continuing with his report. "A team was dispatched to intercept, which led to the last incident causing three more injuries. Colonel Sheppard made the fatal shot before he was incapacitated…"

Those two words 'fatal shot' hit Sheppard like a physical blow. It wasn't just the fact that he had killed someone; he was military and it was often necessary, what troubled him more was that he couldn't remember doing it. The words spoken to him previously as he lay injured on the ground came back to him, 'Colonel, its ok, you got him. Its over,' and it provided some reassurance. A memory was skirting on the edge of his mind and despite the growing headache he willed it to surface. However a voice interrupted his thoughts and the memory dissipated like a burst bubble in the wind.

"It looks like the Colonel will be able to fill in a few of the blanks in my report, sir," said the younger man with a relieved smile. "Doc you're needed over here," he called, noticing the Colonel grimace.

"Aye, he's coming round," said a third voice from just above his head. John had been so immersed in his thoughts that he had not heard the Doctor enter the room. "Colonel, can you open your eyes for me?" He attempted to comply with the Doctor's request. A few moments later and he was able to crack open an eyelid. The light of the room flooded in, compounding the pain in his head more and he winced. "Can you tell me where you are?"

"Infirmary," was the raspy reply.

"Well he should know that, since he spends the most time in here!" The younger man laughed.

"Yes, well, thank you Major," said the Doctor as he gave the man a look. "Anyway, your chest will be sore for a while until the broken rib and the two cracked ones heal. As long as you take it easy and keep them taped up I anticipate no problems."

"What happened?" asked Sheppard.

"I think I'm the best one to answer that," said the Major. "What's the last thing you remember?"

"We had training sessions and were running drills."

"That was yesterday afternoon," interrupted the older man. "Do you remember anything after that?"

"Lying on the ground, the Doc and Major arriving…then waking up here." The other three men shared a look of concern.

"Let's see if we can jog that memory," continued the young Major. "You didn't miss much after the drills, just normal routine; we had dinner in the mess, then you went to your quarters. At twenty hundred hours an intruder was detected. He entered several sensitive areas, injuring three military personnel as he went. The alarm was raised and he fled, you led the team that followed in pursuit. Three more were injured as he evaded our searches. You found him or he found you, which, I can't be sure. You must have tried to talk to him first as you were shot straight on and then you shot him in self defence. Anything coming to mind?"

"No," said Sheppard as he rubbed his temples. "How are the others?"

"No one was hurt too badly, mainly concussions, a few broken bones and a lot of bruises."

"We were lucky this time, especially you Colonel. That bullet hit you in the shoulder, a couple of inches the wrong way and it would have been a completely different story," said the Medical Officer. He watched as Sheppard looked down at himself, taking in for the first time, his wrapped up torso and strapped shoulder.

"What's the cause for his memory loss?" asked the young Major.

"Our Colonel here must have hit his head when he fell to the ground. He's got a concussion but other than that slight swelling there's no significant damage to his head on any of his scans. I expect that, that and the trauma to the rest of his body will account for the loss of memory."

"Will he get the memory back?" Sheppard looked to the Major, grateful for the question being asked.

"With the loss centred on the attack, it's possible that once the swelling goes down and the persistent headaches abate the memory will return. However, it could take from a few hours to weeks, if it ever returns." The room was silent for a moment as the information was digested.

"Doctor, when will you be releasing the Colonel?" enquired the older military man.

"As long as he takes it easy, takes all of his prescribed meds and reports in with me regularly, I can see no reason why he can't recuperate in his quarters tomorrow." Sheppard looked up at that and then the Doctor added, "…as long as there are no problems during his stay tonight."

Sheppard tried to look to the balding man and his younger subordinate for support, but the pain in his head spiked. The Doctor must have noticed and said, "I'll fix that for you, lad." A second later John felt a pinch on his skin and the thumping in his head slowly abated. "That's better isn't it?"

"Yes thank you, Carson," replied John as he removed his head from his hands and his vision finally started to clear. The Doctor coughed, embarrassed and continued his scans and monitoring. Sheppard caught the shared look between the two military men at the foot of his bed and sent them a questioning look.

The Major answered. "Sir, who is Carson?"

Sheppard looked at the concerned face of his Major, and then turned to the Doctor. He took in his blonde hair and dark rimmed glasses and then finally focussed on the chrome nameplate that read 'Dr Finnegan'.

"I don't know."

-o-O-SGA-O-o-

To be continued…


End file.
